I Took A Succubus's First Time

Meanwhile, deep within the infernal depths of Hell, a gathering was taking place.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of sulfur, curling through the dimly lit chamber like a living entity. Shadows flickered along the stone walls, the flickering torches casting jagged, dancing silhouettes across the room. At the heart of it all, a long obsidian table stretched between them, polished to a near-reflective sheen.

Seated around it were five of the most formidable demons in in the current generation of demons.

The leaders of the Souichiro Faction.

At the head of the table sat Souichiro, posture relaxed yet exuding an undeniable authority. He didn't speak, didn't acknowledge the conversation swirling around him. His gaze remained distant, half-lidded, as though he found everything before him utterly insignificant.

Because, to him, it was.

"It seems Masaki has been captured," Natsuya remarked, his tone laced with amusement. A smirk played at his lips as he rested his chin against his fist, appearing wholly unbothered by the revelation. Out of all of them, he was the only one who still maintained his human form, as if he found no need to flaunt his demonic nature before his own kind.

Masayoshi, a towering figure with leathery wings and jagged horns, let out a sharp scoff. "Your sister is probably trying to squeeze information out of her," he mused, a lazy flick of his clawed fingers dismissing the thought entirely. "But at least she's still alive… for now. What a fucking disgrace, though. Can't believe she got herself caught that easily."

Across from him, a woman with crimson skin and elongated fangs smirked, the sharp points glinting in the dim light. "Well, Masaki's always been weak," she said, tilting her head ever so slightly. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

A low, raspy chuckle echoed through the chamber.

A jester-like demon, his face painted in thick layers of black and white makeup, leaned forward with an unsettling grin. "Your sister sure is bold," he mused, eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "To think she has even a fraction of a chance against you—" he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It's almost adorable."

Yet, through it all, Souichiro remained silent.

He wasn't listening.

He wasn't interested.

Because the only thing that mattered to him right now—the only thought swirling in his head—was how he would utterly, completely, destroy Yuuna.

Humiliating her wasn't just a goal.

It was a certainty.

These five were not just his subordinates. They were faction leaders in their own right, each commanding their own forces, yet all of them ultimately followed him. The war with Yuuna's faction wasn't even worth strategizing over—not because they underestimated her, but because to them, it was nothing more than a trivial game.

Yuuna's faction was a joke.

A gathering of failures, defects, and delusions of grandeur.

The idea that they posed a genuine threat was laughable.

And yet—

Masayoshi's voice cut through the conversation, halting the casual air of mockery.

"But… don't you think what your sister unleashed against us was… different?"

The laughter ceased.

A stillness settled over the chamber, thick and suffocating.

Masayoshi's golden eyes glowed faintly as he leaned forward, fingers tapping against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "I don't think she should have been able to wield that kind of power," he murmured. "Not with what we know about her. And if I remember correctly…" His gaze sharpened. "She should have only been able to use it once."

The tapping against the table ceased.

His lips curled into something between amusement and intrigue. "So how the hell was she still standing after being pushed to that extent?"

The moment those words left Masayoshi's mouth, the atmosphere in the chamber shifted—dense, suffocating, as if something unseen had wrapped itself around the room, tightening its grip.

And then—

A blur.

Before anyone could even register the movement, Masayoshi was gone, his body sent hurtling through the air like a ragdoll. A deafening crash followed as he slammed into one of the massive stone pillars, the sheer force of the impact causing deep fractures to spiderweb across its surface. Dust and debris erupted into the air, shrouding the scene in a thick, choking cloud.

It had happened so fast that Masayoshi hadn't even had time to react.

The air thrummed with the lingering force of the strike, raw power crackling like static in the wake of Souichiro's attack. The remaining demons remained motionless, their expressions unreadable, but none looked surprised.

This was expected.

Souichiro rose from his seat with an unsettling calm, his gaze heavy with undisguised contempt as he looked toward the rubble where Masayoshi had landed.

"So, you're telling me… Yuuna has managed to strengthen herself?" His voice was smooth—too smooth—like a blade sliding against silk. "Is that what you're trying to say, Masayoshi?"

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, from the wreckage, a figure stirred.

Masayoshi stepped forward, emerging from the settling dust as if he had merely been lightly nudged rather than struck with enough force to shatter mountains. His clothes were torn in places, but otherwise, he remained utterly unshaken.

He barely even spared Souichiro a glance as he casually swiped a hand across his shoulder, brushing off the dirt and debris as if it were nothing more than an annoyance.

"No," he said simply, his voice calm, unfazed.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"I don't think Yuuna has gained that power on her own. Which means… what she said about having the Child of Anti-Prophecy isn't just some bluff. If anything, it's the most natural conclusion to come to."

The air stilled.

Tension crackled through the room, an almost palpable pressure pressing down on them.

Across the table, the woman with crimson skin let out a slow, dismissive exhale, flicking her long, dark purple hair over her shoulder as if she found the entire discussion tedious.

"The Child of Anti-Prophecy? Please." Her tone dripped with skepticism. "That's nothing more than a legend. A story our ancestors told to keep hope alive during the war against the angels. Are you really entertaining such nonsense, Masayoshi?"

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed beneath her chest.

"Besides," she added with a lazy shrug, "Masaki hasn't even returned with any information. If this so-called Child of Anti-Prophecy really exists, don't you think she would have confirmed it by now?"

Masayoshi didn't respond.

Instead, his gaze remained locked on Souichiro, watching, gauging his reaction.

A low chuckle rumbled from Souichiro's chest. It was deep, smooth—yet entirely devoid of amusement.

"There's no such thing as the Child of Anti-Prophecy," he declared, his voice carrying an unmistakable finality.

A slow smirk curled across his lips, his sharp canines gleaming under the dim light.

"I am the one who will bring the heavens to their knees. No one else."

His gaze swept over the four others, cold and unyielding.

"You four would do well to remember that."